


When John Tried To Conquer Sherlock's Heart - And Failed Miserably

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff and Angst, John is an idiot, M/M, Mild Smut, Pining, Poor John Watson, Post-Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Love, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22265860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: John Watson is in love with Sherlock Holmes. And he is sure Sherlock returns his feelings. In the end he has to realise that he does, in fact, not.
Relationships: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes (unrequited), Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 37
Kudos: 101





	When John Tried To Conquer Sherlock's Heart - And Failed Miserably

**Author's Note:**

> Another cruel one shot about John pining for Sherlock :)

“Oh, this shirt is nice. Is it new?”

“Um. Yes, John. Well observed.” Sherlock glanced at him over his mug. Quite appreciatively, actually. Or annoyed? It was hard to tell.

“A brave colour. How do you call it?” John gave him a bright smile.

“I don’t really know.” _‘Or care’_ was not spoken out but John could sense it. But Sherlock did make an effort. “Salmon?” he suggested, even without rolling his eyes!

“Yes. That fits! Suits you.” Of course he looked fetching in everything.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, his eyes unreadable. “Thank you, John. I shall be off to Bart’s if there are no cases and...”

“Where did you buy it?”

“Huh?”

“The shirt.”

“Are we still talking about it? Anyway. Didn’t. Was a gift from My… Mummy.”

John beamed at him. Oh, the big bad detective and his mummy. Adorable! “She’ll be happy that you’re wearing it. You should make a selfie and send it to her!”

“Oh, that is… a great idea.” Sherlock bared his teeth at him.

John’s heart made a little jump at this smile. Because it most certainly was a smile. “More tea?”

“Tea is never wrong, John.”

If he noticed that John’s hand was slightly shaking when he poured it, he was kind enough to not mention it. Another good sign, wasn’t it?

John, the brave ex-army-captain, the fearless doctor, the tough man – he was utterly and thoroughly in love.

*****

John was not gay. He had always said it and he had meant it. He didn’t even think he was bisexual. He was… yeah, probably the only word was Sherlocksexual. Or Holmessexual. But that would imply he also had the hots for Sherlock's ghastly big brother… Brr… Not that the man was ugly or anything. He was tall and elegant and these blue eyes were rather a sight. But he was so stiff and cold. Anyway. Sherlock wasn’t. Yes, he pretended to be a sociopath but John knew that deep inside he was nothing but a kitten. A puppy. Caring in his own way, for his friends and to some extent even for strangers. Yes, sometimes he was rude and impolite to people. The police, save Lestrade. Okay, sometimes even Lestrade. To Anderson, the poor sod. And to clients, if their cases were beneath him in his eyes. But sometimes he even patted someone’s shoulder if they were unhappy with the solution. Okay, it had happened once, with an old woman. But still. He loved Mrs Hudson! He endured Molly’s pointless attempts at winning his heart! And, of course, he loved him, John.

He had known it pretty quickly. Those longing looks. Sherlock's instant trust in him. This was more than friendship. It hadn’t irked him. As he had told Sherlock from the start: It was all fine. He had not imagined returning those feelings though.

It had not happened with a bang. It had been a long process. He had found Sherlock attractive from the beginning on, of course. No way to overlook those eyes, bright like the sky on a beautiful summer day! Those cheekbones, ready to cut his tongue when he licked over them, and yes, he would! These awesome lips, begging to be kissed. This muscular body, this arse… And his package, well, wow. It was impressive. He had seen Sherlock naked more than once, coming out of the shower or simply out of his bedroom. He _had_ looked at his flatmate’s assets…

And how jealous he had been of Irene… Had Sherlock really wanted something from her? Perhaps even a gay man could be tempted by a woman who was capable of pulling his strings like this. But in all probability it had only been an intellectual thing. She had beaten him in his own game. Of course this had fascinated him. Well, she was dead and that was fine with John. She’d had it coming. _He_ was still here. And little by little, he had begun to understand that he didn’t only love Sherlock as a friend or find him attractive in some objective way. It had been something to wrap his mind around at first. He had fought it. Doubted it. Wanted it to go away. But on the day Sherlock had embraced him after solving a very exciting case, he had decided to give in. Because whom did he still want to fool? He desired him. Loved him. Wanted him. Wanted to lick him from head to toe. Make him scream with pleasure. And he was sure Sherlock would want this, too.

But…

Sherlock was totally inexperienced. John was sure about this. Probably he was scared by the sheer thought of having sex. He had to be subtle. Careful. Deepen their friendship bond until it naturally progressed into something more. He had to be patient. But on the other hand, he had to show his feelings more and more – before someone else came and took his Sherlock away from him. It was not very probable but it could happen. So… He would win Sherlock's heart in every way he did not own it already and he would do it in a pace Sherlock could live with. The compliment for the shirt had been a good start but he would go on. Go on and on until they finally were what they were supposed to be: lovers, together forever. Perhaps they would even get married. John Watson-Holmes. Sherlock Holmes-Watson. Sounded great. John could not wait!

*****

“Did you do something with your hair, Sherlock?”

Two long-fingered hands reached up to ruffle unruly black curls. “Um. No. Washed it. Was pretty windy outside.”

“In any way it looks great.”

“If you say so, John. Pass me the sugar.”

The poor boy. So coy. John loved him so much!

*****

“You were brilliant!”

“Yes.”

“I mean, even more brilliant than usual! Never thought this could be the solution!”

“Well, of course you didn’t. That is why _I_ am the detective.”

John frowned. Well, at least Sherlock hadn’t called him an idiot. His mood brightened up. That had to mean something!

*****

“These jeans, holy shit, Sherlock...”

The detective turned around and looked down on his own back. “What about them?”

“They do wonders to your behind.”

“Wonders how?” Sherlock sounded thoroughly confused.

“I mean, it is great anyway but in these jeans it looks very… plush.”

“Well. I will leave this to your judgement. Can you give me this sample over there?”

John sighed.

Perhaps too much subtlety was not such a great idea after all… Even though this had been rather clear already, hadn’t it? Obviously not, though. But he already had a plan for this evening.

“What’s so funny?” Sherlock was giving him a suspicious look.

“Nothing. I was just smiling.”

“Oh. Looked weird.”

Damn. This man was hard work indeed...

*****

“What will you pick?”

Sherlock shrugged, glancing at the menu, which he had probably seen a thousand times before. “Not hungry.”

John suppressed a sigh. Sherlock was never hungry. Except if there were ginger nuts. But a grown man couldn’t live from tea and biscuits alone. “I’m sure you’ll find something. Oh, nice.”

Sherlock sighed loudly. “Angelo, we don’t need any candles!”

“I think we do,” John disagreed.

The chocolate-brown eyes of the Italian lightened up and he put two long, white candles onto their table and lit them. “See, Sherlock. I knew he’s your date.”

“He is not my...”

“Sherlock...”

The detective rubbed his face. “All right,” he grumbled. “Give us candles.”

John had made an effort with his clothing for this event. No jumper but a shirt. He had even added a tie! Sherlock had not said anything about it, but that had been to be expected. When Sherlock had lowered his hands again, he pointedly straightened it. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“My tie.”

“Looks as if you’re going to a funeral.”

Great… John’s other hand cramped around the armrest of his chair. “How was your day?” he forced himself to ask.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask me that? You were there!”

Before John could explode, Angelo saved him with bringing the beverages and some garlic bread.

It was hopeless… He put a big piece of bread into his mouth so he couldn’t talk anymore. To his surprise, Sherlock did the same.

Mirroring? Wasn’t that a thing lovers did? His mood lightened up. Sherlock was just shy in these private matters, that was all. He had to be more patient. One day soon they would get there.

“You are looking wonderful today, Sherlock.”

Sherlock gaped at him and put another piece of bread into his mouth.

*****

John gasped. Loudly. “Oh, Sherlock…”

“Sorry, was an accident.” Sherlock’s cheeks were flushing marvellously.

An accident all right. John knew how it felt if someone grabbed his arse! “It’s fine,” he breathed. He could still feel Sherlock's hand on his behind. It felt great!

Sherlock huffed. “You were standing in my way, that’s all.”

Sure. It had nothing to do with John’s pert little backside, nicely stressed by his tight blue jeans! The room was soooo small that Sherlock couldn’t have avoided touching him. Finally they were getting somewhere!

*****

Over the course of the next weeks though, John had to realise his efforts got him nowhere. He often bought biscuits for Sherlock, which earned him a smile and sometimes even a ‘thanks’. He showered Sherlock with compliments about his looks, his new eau de cologne, his brilliant mind. Sometimes, when they were watching telly, both sitting on the couch, he would rob a bit closer to Sherlock, but the detective would always jump up and find something else to do.

But he was in love with him, John knew it! Of course it was all very new and probably scary to him but he wanted it. And John wanted it more every day. A Sherlock in a robe made his cock go up instantly. He didn’t come out of his room or the bathroom naked anymore, but with his perfect body, he looked sexy in basically everything. It was torture. John’s heart was craving for a loving word from the man he had become completely obsessed with, and his body was craving to bury a part of it in Sherlock. Damn, he would have even given up his arse for him.

Sherlock ignored every hint, retreated from every touch. He was hardly at home anymore. So one evening, when Sherlock had said he would be at Bart’s for doing God knew what, John told him he would go out with someone. He hadn’t had a date for ages, well, with whom? He just said it because he wanted to see Sherlock's reaction. The detective looked confused – and relieved. Dammit, how could he not be jealous? Damn, he was, though, John was sure. He just didn’t show it!

When Sherlock was gone, John sat down heavily in his chair. They couldn’t go on like this forever. He knew Sherlock. He knew he desired him as much as John desired him. Well, almost as much at least. He was afraid and John understood this. But all the hints and careful attempts had not worked so he had to be clear this time. Shock Sherlock, yes, but then show him that he had nothing to fear from him!

And so he went into Sherlock’s bedroom and sat down on his bed, taking his pillow to inhale his scent. He imagined Sherlock being with him now, naked and pliant and eager to please him and get pleased by him. A moment later his clothes flew onto the floor and he started to stroke himself. His cock was so hard at the image of being with Sherlock that he moaned when he wrapped his fingers around it. Certainly Sherlock would be at home soon. And then they would finally overcome all these unnecessary concerns and finally be together.

His heart made a jump when the door opened up only five minutes later. He had not made light, wanting to surprise Sherlock. And then he froze. He could hear Sherlock speak. It could have been a call, of course, but then he heard a second voice. He couldn’t understand anything; it was just murmuring, but he had the strange feeling he knew this voice. What he had not known so far was how Sherlock sounded when he moaned in pleasure. He had wanted to hear it so badly but certainly not like this…

“ _Oh, yes… You like my arse?”_

“ _Mm-mm.”_

Shit. They were coming closer. To Sherlock's bedroom and doing exactly what John had wanted to do with his friend. He jumped from the bed, tried to smooth down the sheets and picked up his scattered clothes, not paying attention to his bleeding heart for now. He had to find a place to hide. The wardrobe was his first attempt. But it was full with clothes, old microscopes, samples of God knew what and all the stuff Sherlock had no other space for. So there was only one place to go. He took a deep breath and scrambled under the bed.

A lesser man would have shrieked. Not because of the dust or the large spider that seemed appalled by being disturbed by him. There was a skull under the bed. Not like the one in the living room. There was rotting flesh on it… It grinned at John and he robbed away from it as far as he could.

And then they were in the room.

“ _I don’t think this is a good idea. What if John comes back?”_

John’s jaw dropped. Now there was no way to not recognise this voice…

“ _Don’t worry, brother. He has a date. Thank God. Finally gave up trying to get into my pants.”_

John was close to crying. Or dying, whatever would happen first… Right now he would prefer the latter...

“ _I don’t like that, you know. John pining and being all crazy for you.”_

John heard the noise of a messy, wet kiss before Sherlock said, _“I know. But you know I’d never want anyone but you._ _My smart, super handsome big brother._ _”_

Incest. Sherlock fucking with his own brother, his archenemy, the man he always mocked and whom he refused to help whenever he showed up with a case. Lies. Nothing more than lies.

John groaned when they fell onto the mattress together, almost hitting his head. He saw shoes flying through the room, followed by pieces of clothing – a full three-piece-suit complete with sleeve garters and Sherlock's shirt, trousers and underwear. He heard them pant and moan and kiss and in his mind’s eye he saw images of Sherlock's naked body, on display for his not-so-icy brother. Saw Mycroft's long fingers fumbling with Sherlock's hard cock and his rosy little hole. He heard the squelching noises of a cock being sucked, undeniably Mycroft's as he encouraged Sherlock to take his large thing deeper and make him fly.

He did consider crawling out from under the bed to leave the room on his stomach like a bug. As high on each other as they were, they would probably not even notice it. But he knew he couldn’t. The risk was way too high. This situation was as horrible and embarrassing as possible, even too silly for any stupid slapstick film, but being caught by them would multiply this with a million.

He almost broke out into hysterical giggles when he thought that he could use this perfect blackmail material to coerce Sherlock into having sex with him. Finally the way to Sherlock’s heart! Only that he would never do this. Not only because he loved Sherlock and would always love him. But if he tried anything like this, Mycroft would most definitely let him disappear.

He could do nothing but sitting it out. Listening to the creaking of the mattress when Mycroft took Sherlock after preparing him with his tongue, accompanied by Sherlock mumbling words of pleasure at the efforts of his brother’s ‘long tongue’. He could hear every stroke, every clashing of skin on skin, every slapping of Sherlock's plush arse when Mycroft fucked him with abandon. Sherlock was cursing and pleading and cheering, definitely enjoying himself tremendously. And he heard them both come and imagined all the semen flying around respectively being pumped into Sherlock's arse.

It was torture and heartbreak and still his cock was hard as a rock, and this fact was the worst of it all. Even the skull seemed to laugh at him. He got off on their incestuous pleasures. He would wank to the memory of this most certainly. He would never get this out of his system again. And he would for sure never get Sherlock. When the Holmeses obviously snuggled together above him, murmuring words of love and devotion to each other besides kissing every few seconds, he silently started to sob.

*****

Sherlock kissed his brother one last time at the door of his flat. And then another time, because he hated to let him go. And one more time because he tasted so good. And Mycroft, his long arms wrapped around his waste tightly, indulged him time after time. How much they loved each other. It never ceased to amaze him. As he knew Mrs Hudson was out to see her bridge ladies, he dared accompanying Mycroft to the front door even though he wasn’t wearing a stitch. Mycroft was hesitant as he still feared that John or Mrs Hudson could come back, but he gave in as always when Sherlock demanded something from him, and they kissed and petted one another for another few minutes before Mycroft finally left after promising him to meet him again the next evening, in his house this time. Usually they only met in his house. But tonight Sherlock had insisted on going to Baker Street to make love to his secret lover in his own bed for a change.

And now, when he walked upstairs again, still half in his post-coital high, he pondered that he must have given John enough time to leave his room, have a quick wash in the bathroom and disappear to his room upstairs to probably cry his eyes out for the rest of the night.

He did feel pity for him but there really had not been another way. Sometimes people had to learn the hard way that they could never have him.

The End


End file.
